


a heart as white as snow

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, GOT Secret Santa, Separation Anxiety, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Sweet, all of those are lightly brushed against but also Important Tropes in what's essentially, and an attempt at humour here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 21:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: "It was undignified and ridiculous and Daenerys was going to laugh in that way she always did when she disapproved of something while actually loving it - restrained, nearly soundless, with her eyes alight with mischief - and the thought of it was just about the only thing keeping him warm right now."





	a heart as white as snow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the GoT Secret Santa on tumblr, for tropes such as 'sharing a bed' which isn't _technically_ the main feat here, but is featured as an implication of what follows after the metaphorical curtains close. My wonderful giftee - @ohdaenerys - was open to most of my suggestions, so I really hope you enjoy this! It's got a bit of all the classic winter tropes while also keeping it angst-free post-s7 (sort of a first for me), and hopefully it's got the right ingredients for a gift. Sorry for being late with it, too - as previously mentioned, the Internet access I had over the last few days wasn't the greatest. Title taken from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3itFCZ6Z58)  
> Happy (still continuing) holidays and feel free to let me know what you think! <3

It was dark and cold and completely deserted outside of the inn and somehow, the last thing Jon had expected had been that he'd have to experience this of all things on their way back to Winterfell.

They'd been through quite a lot during their voyage already (it had still been far preferable to travelling by land, though, so no one had ever complained) and the tension of just how important their timely arrival was had only increased after they'd ended up in White Harbour and had started making their way back towards his childhood home. Jon had been prepared to handle every little oddity that the North had to offer and Daenerys had expected the worst, he suspected, considering that she had little to no experience with the territory. Still, they'd both had far worse than minor inconveniences in mind and so far, that was all they'd got. It was a relief when compared to the terrors of the war that inevitably awaited them, but Jon couldn't deny that it was irritating; far more so than anything straightforwardly dangerous would have been.

This particular case was no exception. The night two days ago had come even earlier than expected and it was quickly becoming far too cold to travel after dark, so they'd given up the ghost as soon as they'd realised that the inn they'd come upon was the last one they'd be able to find for the time being.

Everything had been fine at first. It was yet another thing that both he and Daenerys agreed on - they needed to get their people settled before finding a place for themselves - and they'd worked it out without much fuss. It had been only after that that they'd realised that with the arrangements they'd made, there was just one room left for them to share and from then on, the trouble had started.

Two weeks ago, back on Daenerys's ship, Jon definitely wouldn't have classified it as _trouble_. Truth be told, without either of them mentioning it, they'd easily got used to sharing a bed for the rest of their stay aboard, regardless of which one they'd picked this time. But the ship had almost felt like a different world - separate from the ever-deepening complications of their lives and the mess that their tentative attempt at a relationship (it felt like such a harmless word, even now; distant and entirely insufficient for what Jon felt whenever he thought of her) would cause once it came to light.

Here, in the land that they'd have to make a fortress of if they wanted to survive the winter, things were different. They couldn't trust everyone - not even a fraction of the people they met, likely - and Daenerys stood out far too much for her own good no matter what she did to disguise her identity and it would have been equally unacceptable for them to be seen sharing a room and for her to get the same shelter as everyone else. It would end in disaster and a rather unpleasant word of mouth that would reach Winterfell long before they did and in the end, Daenerys had reluctantly agreed to let him sort himself out while she retreated for the night.

He, at least, would be safe, being far more unrecognisable with his Northern looks hiding him from his own people better than any of their lies could ever do, which was more than either of them could say about her and Daenerys had just enough self-preservation instinct to let it go before they could start an argument that would attract far more attention than they were prepared to handle.

It had been fine at first, really. The two night stay that they'd planned had been easy to handle, even if it had required quite a bit of manoeuvring around all the other guests so that anyone from their entourage could have any kind of meaningful communication about their next move, but it had been bearable and it was only when the blizzard outside had stretched on, making it impossible for them to leave, that Jon had started feeling a little— restless.

Perhaps _restless_ wasn't the right word. _Helpless_ was a better fit - that was the only sensation he'd been left with when he'd realised that more waiting would be required. The dragons had to stay away from the inn, which made Daenerys twitchy as well, and when they were both so out of sorts, it inevitably took its toll on everybody else as well. Progressively, it had all got quite stifling.

Eventually, that had brought him here - out in the cold, late in what was supposed to definitely be their last night here, his gloved fingers gripping the dents in the wall for dear life as he steadily climbed towards what he'd expected to be his chambers when they'd originally settled in. It was undignified and ridiculous and Daenerys was going to laugh in that way she always did when she disapproved of something while actually loving it - restrained, nearly soundless, with her eyes alight with mischief - and the thought of it was just about the only thing keeping him warm now as he made his way up past the unfairly small windows of the common room below.

To be fair, she'd been the one to give him the idea. _This can't go on, Jon_ , she'd said just this morning during their mockery of a council meeting, with a lilt to her voice that implied that she knew how out of options they both were but wanted to share her frustration all the same, _we have a lot to discuss. We're only a week's ride away from Winterfell now, everyone says, and I can't just march in there unprepared, you know that._

 _I'll figure something out_ , Jon had assured her. She'd never been particularly good at letting someone reassure her while doing nothing to achieve whatever she wanted on her own and the realisation of that little detail had only dawned on him now, halfway up to her room, suddenly striking him with the image of finding said room deserted while Daenerys had decided to take the matters into her own hands. She wasn't reckless enough to wander around at night without any disguise to speak of, he knew, but he still couldn't be sure—

“Jon?”

One day, Jon swore as he froze halfway through his next move, _one day_ he would end up dead in the most embarrassing fashion possible and it would be all her fault, especially if she kept showing up unexpectedly in places he’d never expected her to be.

“What are you _doing_?”

Her voice was just a bit too loud given their surroundings and full of all the incredulity she must have felt at the sight of him, but Jon didn’t flinch – the weather was just overwhelming enough to be able to be a good cover. “I could ask you the same thing,” he hissed, taking in the sight of her – wearing one of her thinner dresses and little else, strands of silver hair cascading over her shoulders and blending in with the snow around them. “Where are you going?”

He was ever so slightly closer now; enough to be within her reach. Daenerys extended a hand towards him, as if actually expecting him to pull himself up solely with her support. It would have been a warming gesture if he hadn’t been so cold in the more literal sense of the word.

“I told you; I can’t keep doing this.” Once Jon had got hold of the window, it was easy to see her gesturing back towards the room behind her. It looked so _inviting_ that he had a hard time believing that he’d just witnessed her trying to climb out of it out of boredom. A moment later, clarification came. “I wanted a word with Ser Davos— and you, as a matter of fact.” Jon had finally heaved himself over the edge and her touch had returned at once; the hand she’d offered in support now resting on his shoulder, torn between keeping him in place and pulling him closer. She never seemed quite sure which one she preferred, but he didn’t particularly mind waiting. “I have a few more questions about Winterfell.”

“And they couldn’t wait until morning?”

He was smiling despite himself, Jon could tell, and Daenerys’s lips pressed into a thin line in response. She was always happy to see him, but was rarely thrilled to stay separated from everyone else for the sake of arriving as quietly as possible. Introducing herself to the North would be inevitable soon enough, but the fact that she preferred to do it behind the walls of his home was one Jon was enjoying far too much.

“We’ve got hours to go before first light. And we don’t have too many mornings before we need to arrive, do we?”

“No,” he conceded, “we don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” The room was small even by their recently lowered standards, but Daenerys still managed to pace around it a few times, quiet in thought, before heading back to the bed and sitting on the edge with something in her expression that resembled resignation far too much for comfort. “Isn’t that why you decided to come here too? To _talk_?”

“I suppose I did.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either and the raised eyebrow he got in response was enough to make him look away for all of an instant before Jon cautiously followed her example. No one could see them here – Daenerys must have locked the door hours ago – but they _could_ be heard, and it still felt somehow illicit; to take his place next to her when they’d made ever so sure to deny any implication of the possibility of it so far. They’d been doing a rather good job, Jon thought, even if it had got them in a desperate enough situation to try what they both seemingly just had. “It’s exhausting; hiding. More exhausting than the travel is.”

“I know.” Daenerys’s arm around his shoulders was somehow more efficient than the fire was at making him forget about the snow storm right outside their window. “We’re leaving tomorrow. There’s not much left now. And until then— Until then, we can both catch up on everything we need to.”

“And if someone hears?”

“Well, we can’t discuss anything too crucial without our council here, can we?”

 _Our_ council. It had slipped out so easily that Jon didn’t think to entertain the possibility of it being anything but genuine. Without letting himself dwell too much on it, he relaxed back on the bed, delighted when she followed the movement to lie down next to him.

“Catching up it is, then.”

They still had hours to go before first light, after all.


End file.
